


You'd think a hero would be braver (Look me in the eyes and tell me the truth).

by TheFangirlAndTheAngst



Series: All of Angst's fics!! (The DP ones) [2]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Danny is scared of the dark :(, Danny-boy is doing a Big Sad, Dashy-boy is doing a Not-Bad, Gen, Haha JK they're Terrible People, Jack and Maddie's A+ Parenting, Rated T for angsty Teenage Foul-mouths (swearing), This whole thing is 6 pages on Word good God, What are these tags I have created??, Who needs sleep when you have fics to write amirite???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-23 10:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17078996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFangirlAndTheAngst/pseuds/TheFangirlAndTheAngst
Summary: Danny Phantom was a hero. Danny Fenton?He was nothing more than a frightened child masquerading as a lazy teenager.





	1. In the Beginning there was God (JK there was angst)

**Author's Note:**

> Wow look at me, posting twice in one week. (This consistency won't last for long, trust me.)  
> Hi, it's Angst, and I present to you a story of my own invention.  
> I was GOING to post this yesterday, but life's not fair. (My computer crashed.)
> 
> So, here you go, have some s u f f e r i n g.

Danny Fenton was afraid of the dark. (Danny Phantom was too, but no one needed to know that.)

Was there a reason that Danny was scared of the dark? Of course. Whenever the lights went out, all he could see was Dan’s red eyes and bared teeth surrounding him, and sometimes, he felt the itch of his bird-like talons ghosting across his neck. He could see his parents’ twin smiles, twisted into something he could only describe as sadistic, and his bed would begin to feel like the cold metal of the dissection table in the basement that lay only two floors below him. He could see glimpses of the fractured faces of ghosts, and he could hear their scratchy whispers, quietly calling for him to join them in their eternity.

Did his parents know about his fear of the dark? No, they’d ask questions; Danny got nervous when they asked questions.

His sister, perhaps? No, she’d blow it _way_ out of proportion.

Someone at school, or even just his friends? _God no_ , his friends would never stop worrying, and if word got around, Dash would _ruin_ him.

 

Needless to say, because of this fear, Danny had a nightlight. It was a little red and white rocket ship that projected bright stars onto the ceiling during the dark of the night and he _loved_ it.

(Though he feared that, with the way his grades were spiralling, it was the closest he would ever get to the stars.)

The only way he could get to sleep without it- or any other light source- was if there was another person in the room with him. It could be anyone, it didn’t matter who, he just need to know that _someone_ was there.

( _Anyone except my own parents,_ he would think with a sigh- because he’d _never_ un-see that Y-shaped vivisection scar left on his chest from the last time they caught him.)

(Maybe _they_ were the main reason he was afraid of the dark and not Dan after all- although he wasn’t sure he wanted to know if that was true or not.)

Danny Phantom- half-ghost saviour of Amity Park- was scared of the dark more than anything else. Who would have guessed?

 

* * *

 

Dash Baxter was not an easily-rattled teenager, but somehow, _Fenton_ \- of all people- had managed to do it.

It was all Mr. Lancer’s fault anyway.

It had been a pretty slow Friday, not even a ghost attack to break the unbearable mundanity of the day, and Dash could only watch the clock in anticipation of the coming weekend. But then Mr. Lancer had given back the short-essay results on the poem _‘Time and Love’_ by William Shakespeare; and a huge, slightly smudged ‘D’ had been stamped across the front of the paper in bold crimson. It was infuriating but, also the perfect excuse to end his boredom by wailing on Fenton so, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. (Besides, during the last week, Dash hadn’t seen him at all- almost as if he’d _disappeared_. He was long due a pounding.)

When Dash had stalked towards Fenton’s turned back, he had seemed more on tense than usual, and his movements were sluggish. He was dragging his feet, almost as if the weight of them was difficult to carry. Then he had screamed some warped version of the raven-haired boy’s surname, turned him around and grabbed his shirt roughly, intending to intimidate Fenton- as per the usual.

But then their gazes had locked, and Dash was stopped in his tracks.

Dash Baxter did not feel any sort of _compassion_ for the youngest of the Fentons, but those big, blue eyes just looked so _scared_. They made him seem _too_ young, _too_ small, like he could clasp his shirt just a little bit tighter and suddenly Fenton would shatter like a tea cup. It was worrying, because that boy was a lot of things, but afraid of Dash had never been one of them.

But Fenton didn’t really look as if he was looking _at_ him, more _through_ him, like he was expecting something to turn around the corner that Dash had his back to and attack them.

He had bags underneath his eyes, too. Both an ugly purple and black that made them seem like they were from bruises rather than sleep-deprivation. It looked like the boy hadn’t had a full-night’s worth of sleep in _weeks_. How had Dash not noticed before?

( _Maybe this is why I got a D in poetry analysis,_ \- he thought glumly- _I’m not perceptive at all, am I?_ )

He still had a hold of Fenton’s- no- _Danny’s_ t-shirt collar, so he let go.

_(I may not be one of his loser friends, but this is just weird, so I have a right to ask.)_

“ _Dude,_ you look like a _zombie_ , what the hell?”

Danny laughed, and it might have eased Dash’s concern a little if it didn’t sound so nervous.

“I’m fine, Dash, just tired. Why do you care anyway?”

The question wasn’t spoken with a bitter or resentful tone, he just sounded genuinely curious, as if it was a truly rare occasion in which someone other than Manson, Foley, or his sister expressed concern for him. (It further saddened him to realise that that was mostly _his fault._ )

“Because it’s no fun knocking you down a peg if there’s no pegs to knock down. You look like you haven’t slept in _centuries_ , Fen-toad.”

 

* * *

 

Danny Fenton was decidedly _not_ having the most pleasant of weeks.

His rocket- _his rocket_ ; with the stars and the lights and everything- was _missing_. _How could it be missing?_ He always hid it when he left his room, so, it couldn’t have been stolen, because only Odysseus knew it existed (which is to say _nobody_ ). But he always hid it in the same place- so he couldn’t have just _lost_ it.

This, of course, meant that Danny was the most sleep-deprived he had ever been in his miserable half-life. Just _existing_ was physically painful. The weight of his body was hard to carry, and he could _feel_ the flesh underneath his skin as it met the cells that made up his outer layer of being- he _despised_ it.

The strangest thing was that he also seemed to be more _alert_ than he had ever been in his life as well. He could hear the erratic heartbeats of all the tortured adolescents in the hallway, he could hear people’s heavy breathing through the thin walls, and the talking was so _loud_ that he thought his ears might bleed.

Then Dash Baxter had rocked up to him with his pounding footsteps and ragged breaths- which might have gone unheard had Danny not been so sleep-deprived- screeched his last name (or at least, a derivation of it) with all the strength and terribleness of a banshee and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

Situations such as this had two possible outcomes for Danny Fenton was tired:

One- adrenaline would pump through his system like blood in his veins, strength would catch him like a rabbit in a snare and, in a burst of ungodly power, he’d fight with an uncontrollable fervour unheard of in his lifetime and the opposition would be absolutely _decimated_.

Or- if the opposition was not a threat- his body would go into complete shutdown of everything except his vital organs, and he’d be left with about as much fight in him as a particularly beat-up ragdoll.

And Dash Baxter was no threat- not to Danny- so, he collapsed in the athlete’s grasp, utterly helpless.

 

But then, he had been put down, without even a scratch to show for it.


	2. Alethephobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny wonders what has become of the Dash Baxter he's known all his life, while the boy in question seeks answers of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's me again!!  
> The second chapter is out today, like I said it'd be! (I said it'd be AROUND Sunday)  
> Think of this as a sort-of day-early Christmas present!  
> (Or just a Winter holiday gift if you don't celebrate Christmas.)
> 
> Enjoy!!

_This,_ Danny thought detachedly, _must be the first sign of the apocalypse._

Because Dash Baxter was concerned for him. Dash was _never_ concerned; he was _Dash_. Yet, here he was, asking if _he_ \- _Danny_ , of all people- was getting enough sleep. That unease in his eyes was real, too, and that worried him; because if _Dash_ had noticed how exhausted he was, _then what did everyone else think?_

He had tried not to burst into hysterics at both the _unfairness_ and the complete _absurdity_ of it all- he really had- but he couldn’t help the awkward, world-weary laugh that escaped him. Apparently this second bout of laughter did nothing to ease his concerns, as Dash’s eyes narrowed, though not in the predatory way that Danny was used to.

“I _mean it_ , Fenton. You look _legitimately_ terrible. Is there like, _an actual real problem_?”

The answer was _yes_ , of course. Yes there was an ‘actual real problem’. It was a miracle in itself that no one had noticed sooner (both the ghost thing and the tiredness that stemmed from his nyctophobia), because it should have all been pretty obvious, _especially_ to the people who knew him best; he hadn’t really been doing anything to hide it, after all.

_He just wanted to sleep. To stop being such a coward._

“If I told you, it might _actually ruin_ my life, and I don’t really feel up to taking that kind of leap-of-faith at the moment.”

Dash scoffed in that very Dash-like way that made it sound like he was shrugging something off but was really doing the opposite.

“Fenton, even _I_ have morals; and beating up a kid that looks a hell of a lot like he’s about half-an-inch away from Death’s door goes against pretty much _all_ of them. Besides, I have this thing about deep, personal shit. I don’t like provoking people using touchy subjects. Sure, if you’ve got a jacked-up nose, I’ll say ‘dude, that’s one jacked-up nose’. But if you’ve got anxiety or depression or like, your mother just died, I’m not gonna try and start anything with you- I’m not _that_ much of an asshole.”

Had this been any other time, Danny would have said that he had no idea that Dash knew such big words.

But this wasn’t any of those times, and he looked so _genuine_ and _kind_ that Danny found his mouth moving without his permission.

“Remember that blackout at school last year?”

(He tried to ignore the way his soft voice carried- when did the school halls get so empty?)

“Yeah, I remember that. I thought it’d be funny to sneak up on you and make you jump. But, you actually looked kind of scared? You kept looking over your shoulder, and you were all jittery and- _oh_.”

_“Nyctophobia.”_

Danny said with a defeated sigh, not meeting Dash’s eyes and casting his own downwards as they burned with unshed tears, his face flushed red with shame. He begged to whatever higher-power that was listening that the jock was being honest about that whole ‘even bullies have moral compasses’ thing, because otherwise this would _break_ him.

“Why?” Dash blurted out curiously, “Sorry, that was kinda rude- but I just remembered this one time in third grade when there was a power cut, and everyone was freaking out except you. And when someone asked you why, you said that they shouldn’t be surprised, ‘cause your parents had actually made it their real job to get rid of ghosts- so there was literally no reason for you to be scared. What changed?”

Danny whispered his broken reply so gently that the blond had to lean in closer to hear it; even then he barely caught it.

 

“Maybe it’s not the ghosts I’m afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but I thought it might be nice to leave it there.
> 
> Dash's perspective next! One more chapter to go and then we're done!
> 
> (:


	3. Heroes aren't always 'heroic'; sometimes they're just survivors; sometimes they're just listeners, but they're heroes all the same.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no such thing as a definitive form for a monster, as Dash comes to realise. 
> 
> And Danny decides that sometimes the weight of the world is a little too heavy for his hunched-over, 14 year-old shoulders to carry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, final chapter!! Don't really have anything to say so, let's crack on!  
> (God that sounds so British I'm so British.)

_“Maybe it’s not the ghosts I’m afraid of.”_

 

That one sentence, it all its quietness and simplicity, shook Dash to his very core.

There was _fear_ in those boy’s baby-blue hues, and suddenly he realised what exactly Danny was saying.

“You’re scared of your parents.”

It wasn’t a question- it was a statement.

Daniel Fenton was afraid of his own flesh and blood. He was afraid of the dark because the thought that they- his own _parents_ \- could be lurking in the corners of the room, wrapped in shadows, genuinely terrified him. It made Dash feel ill. What could they have _possibly_ done to him? Yeah, they were a little eccentric, but he’d _never_ thought for even a _second_ that they’d had it in them to be abusive.

"Every time I turn off the lights- they’re there. Their smiles don’t _look right_ in the dark and I _hate_ it, _I hate_ that I don’t even feel safe in my _own home_ anymore and-"

Danny was panicking. His clenched hands were shaking, his breathing was harsh and uneven in a way that made it seem like he wasn’t doing it out of necessity, merely for the familiarity of the motion, and his eyes were glassy, like he was close to tears.

(Dash wouldn’t blame him at all if he was.)

“Danny- _Danny_ , you’ve gotta calm down. You’ll work yourself into a panic attack, and I don’t think anyone wants that.”

Danny took a few haphazard breaths in what looked like a feeble attempt to soothe himself. It didn’t seem to do much, but he began to speak again anyway.

"I’m sorry, it’s- it’s just-"

He stopped talking abruptly, and something inside him must have snapped, because he looked at Dash with dead-set determination glinting in his eyes.

“You know what? Secrets are overrated- _Fuck_ them. I might as well tell you everything else, too.” Danny took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve not felt safe around my parents for about a year now, because I’m frightened half to death that I’m going to wake up on a dissection table again one day, only next time as _this me_ ; their _son_.

“Because one of my greatest fears is that they hate _him_ more than they _love me_.”

Now how the hell was Dash supposed to respond to that? Luckily, he didn’t have to, because the raven-haired boy ploughed right on.

“I can see the red eyes of their jumpsuits staring at me in the dark. But, there’s something else as well. It sounds _absurd_ , it really does but, I’ve started so, I’ll finish, I guess.” Danny took another brief moment to collect himself before starting another explanation (now that he thought about it, this was the longest conversation he’d ever had with the young Fenton), “I’ve been shown snippets of stuff that could happen. It was me but, it just- it just _wasn’t_. He was _horrible_ , he destroyed _everything_. And, even if Clockwork’s told me he’s not coming back, I’m scared to look at my shadow in case it’s not mine that’s behind me. I can see his stupid face and his stupid smile whenever I look in the mirror. And he’ll say, in the calmest of tones: _‘I’m inevitable’_. It’s all he ever says, but it keeps me up at night- and if I do manage sleep- Dan or that damned metal surgical table is there behind my eyelids.

“And you know why I haven’t just gone _insane_ from lack of sleep? I have a _fucking nightlight_ , Dash. Nobody else knows about it. Not my friends, not Jazz, and _especially_ not my parents. It’s a _shitting_ rocket nightlight that projects little stars onto my ceiling at night. And you know what I’ve done, Dash? _I’ve fucking lost it_. How the _shit_ do you lose something when you know exactly where it should be and nobody else knows it exists? No shitting clue, which is why _it’s still fucking lost_. I haven’t slept in _weeks_ \- and the only reason I’m not _completely_ dead is because I’ve got one _damn_ foot in the grave already.” Danny had hissed it with such immense hatred, like the words were poison that he wanted extracted from his system as soon as possible. He had gotten progressively louder over the course of the explanation, but he had never shouted, and he commended him for that. Dash didn’t know if the crazy amount of self-control that Danny seemed to posses was admirable or downright scary.

“What do you ‘one foot in the’- _wait_.”

And suddenly all of Danny’s unexplained absences made perfect sense. All of his half-assed, frequently missing homework assignment. All his friends’ incessant worrying. His complete disregard for his own life. All of his bathroom breaks- which had become such a commonplace occurrence that Dash had heard Lancer mutter quietly under his breath on a fair few occasions about getting him to talk to a doctor about his apparent bladder issues (it made Dash feel no small amount of guilt to think that he had even considered teasing Danny about that).

Because the reality of what Danny had said had just hit him like a freight train at the speed of light.

And so Dash uttered, in the tenderest of baritone whispers:

“What the fuck? You’re _Phantom_? _ **You’re** Phantom_? How the actual **shitting dick fuck** did I not fucking see this before? You look _exactly the fucking same_.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Now that Danny was not acting in the heat of the moment and was now aware of the implications of what he had just revealed, he was looking a fair few shades paler, and sporting a rather bewildered expression.

“Wait shit, no. Uhm- fuck- wait, I meant like- y’know… ah shit I’m screwed.”

“Hang on- you have _a nightlight_?”

(Danny was pretty surprised that he had remained on the topic of Fenton and Phantom for such a brief moment- which could be a cause for relief, or a cause for distress as he might be going into shock. But still, trust _Dash Baxter_ \- however considerate he was being at the moment- to focus on the more embarrassing of the two.)

He really was screwed. Jazz was right- being impulsive was the last thing anyone needed from him. Turns out it took telling the worst human teenager he knew two of his best-kept secrets for him to realise that she had a pretty good point.

Nevertheless, Danny decided that he could dwell on the fact that he had agreed with his psychoanalytic sister for once in his life later. Now? He had to claw his way out of the hole he’d just dug himself into.

Too bad his rational side had shown up late to the party. He hadn’t just _dug_ himself into this mess, he’d _buried himself_.

“Yeah, I guess… please say you’re not changing your mind on the whole ‘moral compass’ thing, because this’ll _ruin_ me.”

“I know,” Dash spoke with all the clarity of a middle-aged, vegan coffee-shop hippie with a guitar who’d just discovered a way to save the rainforest, “I also know the _reason_ why you have one and, not gonna lie- it’s pretty fucked-up. So, I think that, by teasing someone about something that fucked-up, I- by extension- would also be pretty fucked up too.”

Danny was surprised in a good way for once in his half-life. He wasn’t being made fun of for this by Dash even a little bit. And, although it wasn’t because Dash liked him in any way, it was a start.

_Baby steps_ , he told himself.

“And hey, Danny? If… if you want some help looking for that light, or, hell, if you need someone to help you get a new one, I’ll be here. I really do owe you one- you’ve saved the town from ghosts and put up with me and my friends’ bullshit every day for _ages_. And, besides, you’re really not all that bad, you know- as Fenton, I mean.”

Dash had made it sound as if he was just paying his dues or something, but Danny had a sneaking suspicion that that wasn’t the case. For a second, he had even forgot that Dash was talking about his nightlight, because it had sounded an awful lot like he was offering Danny his companionship.

He hoped _(what a rare thing for him to do)_ that maybe, _maybe_ , he and Dash could become friends someday. It really would be a nice change.

 

So, they stood silently in the empty corridor of Casper High School, both gazing into the blue orbs of the other and, for the first time in what felt like years, Danny Fenton smiled.

 

And Dash Baxter smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, finally done I guess.  
> Thanks for actually going through with reading it all. I always enjoy reading comments, and I also try to make a habit of checking out all of the people who kudos so I can read their work too! (I really hope that doesn't sound weird.)
> 
> Onto the next fic, I guess. (You'll still have to wait for it though!!)
> 
> (Also I MIGHT revisit this idea at some point and have Danny confront Maddie and Jack, but I might not so, tell me what you think!!)
> 
> Bye guys!!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the Greek myth joke, but I couldn't help myself.  
> I also mentioned a poem called 'Time and Love' by William Shakespeare, and I'm pointing this out because it's my favourite poem from the book 'The Golden Treasury', and you should read it. (The poem actually sort of fits with the DP fandom, too, now that I think about it.) (Fun Fact about me- because I'm such a nerd, I can actually recite that poem by heart.)  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
